


Aranel

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, Fourth Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The death of King Elessar and departure of his Queen, Lady Arwen, seen through the eyes of their youngest daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aranel

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

The city is so quiet that if it weren't for the black flag flickering in the wind above me, I could swear that time had stopped completely. I am perched on the window seat of the family apartments, looking out over the horizon. The numb, coldness of the stone is soaking through the fabric of my black robes, seeping into my skin, yet I will not move from my vigil. Night is falling, creeping upon the world like a sickness, and I think... can I bear another night like the last?

We had known it was fast approaching, the day when everything would change for us all. None of us dared speak of it, afraid to put the inevitable into words as if speaking it would bring it about all the sooner. Perhaps each of us held a vain sense of hope that by keeping our lips sealed, our heads down and our minds blank, the situation could and would be rectified. To hope for such a thing was useless. I can say it now. Our father was dying. And time rots away the soul, the brain and the flesh; how could we, the supple saplings of a mighty family tree, the youngest in a line that stretched back thousands of generations, presume to alter the course of nature?

My sisters took to sewing. They would gather in a circle and chatter like a roost of hens, gripping soft fabrics between their deft fingers, needles dipping in and out, thoughtless, constant. I could have sat with them, if I'd wished, but such conversation was trivial, as numbing as the stones that chill me to the bone. My brother simply disappeared, returning now and then for bread and a sip of water before leaving again. Father deemed him ready, the rest of us were far more sceptical. In the face of hardship, he was hiding away.

As for my mother... she would sit and stare. Head bowed slightly, hands folded neatly on her lap, she sat by the window of our chamber, yet I knew she was not looking out over the wide plains, or the mountains beyond the river that had once threatened the entire world with darkness many years before I was born; no, those blue eyes were clouded, she looked but she saw nothing, caught in the trap of nostalgia. In her mind she was there again, in all the places she had spoken of when my sisters and I were such young girls, gathering at her feet before bed and begging her tell us again, tell us again; how was it that she met Father? In her waking dreams, she drifts beneath the lofty trees of her home, the haven I have heard her speak of so lovingly and so clearly that I feel as if I have been there myself in spirit. When the slightest smile waves across her pale face, she must be wandering the banks of the glassy Celebrant, or resting upon Cerin Amroth with a scattering of flowers for a fragrant pillow. When she turns her head, she sees not the grey stone walls of our chamber, only her sweetheart beside her, real enough to touch and no shadow of age yet to plague his handsome face.

I went and knelt at her feet, gathering a fistful of velvety cloth in my hand, tugging as I did when I was very little, when I came running with my eyes full of tears and my mouth full of tales; one of my sisters had pulled my hair, my brother had hidden my dolls, I'd been pinched, tugged, teased the way the youngest always are. My mother would scoop me up in her arms and hold me ever so tight, cascade of silky black hair would tickle my face and I would breathe in the soft scent of spring that seemed to radiate from her like a mist that forms over calm waters. With gentle hands, she would wipe the tears from my cheeks, whispering a lullaby in that ancient tongue we had learnt at birth but spoke seldom, lilting, breathy words that caressed the mind and soothed me into sleep. How time changes all things. Now it was I who took her hands in mine, it was I who wrapped her in an embrace and whispered in that comforting tongue.  
 _  
"Mother, you are worrying me."_

There was no conversation to be made between the two of us, neither of us mustered much cheer. I sat by her side, following the direction of her gaze across the plains, out into the darkness that was slowly gathering about us as the day began to falter. Her hands grew feverishly cold. I asked her quietly if she wanted to move nearer to the hearth but no reply. Just blank stares. One of my sisters came over every now and then to see how we fared, and did we want a cup of water? Something to eat perhaps? They were going to send for the kitchen to bring up some bread and wine, a couple of pastries, a bowl of fruit. Did we want some? Then join us by the fire, perhaps? I shook my head, mute as my mother. We're fine. She was as cold and still as stone.

The news we had long been dreading came not long after nightfall. A servant brought us tidings; after settling his affairs and much preparation for the easing of his son into the role of kingship, King Elessar had chosen to retire to his chamber, where he awaited his wife and children to come and bid a final farewell. Eldarion, who had returned in silence and sat by himself, rose to his feet and froze, unsure of the next step as we all looked to him for guidance. It must have been the sharp crackling of the fire against the ensuing silence that roused our mother; she stood and looked about at us, her eyes wide and blinking as if waking from a long and fretful sleep

" _Come,_ " she said, holding a hand out to me, " _Let all of us go together._ "

Clad in black, we went forth, a most sombre procession, to our fathers' chamber. The members of my fathers' court had all miraculously disappeared, sinking into the merciful shadows to let the family of the King pass by in peace. Nothing was certain, but the King, they said, was close to dying. His chambers were solemn and quiet. We stationed ourselves in the outer chamber, the room that housed his books and his papers, his writing desk, paintings and sketches and all the memorabilia he had collected from his travels across the earth. Everything was neat and tidy, everything looked as if it had been finally filed and documented in preparation for the great change that was upon us, the transition from one sovereign to the next. Father lay in his bed chamber beyond the oak door.

My father called for each of his children in turn; Eldarion, being eldest, was first, and he emerged not long after with the winged crown gripped lightly in his hand, as if he barely dared hold it to tightly lest it crumble to dust in his palms. He shook, every inch of him trembled as he crossed the room in three strides and threw himself into a chair, away from us, with the crown rested on his knee and his face buried in his hands. I didn't want to look at my brother. His grief was too graphic, too fresh, and I hadn't the heart or strength to console anyone. Not my brother. Not even my mother. My own soul was in torment; I felt the haze of grief begin to wash over me, the tightening of the throat muscles, the stinging in the eyes as realisation dawned. This is it. This is it and there is nothing I can do, nothing that any of us can possibly do. I sat and watched each of my sisters enter that room with their heads high, leaving the room in floods of tears. He called for me second to last, before mother. Thick velvet curtains were drawn across the window, cloaking the room in semi-darkness; the only light came from the candles burning in the brackets above the bed where he lay, looking a little lost amidst the endless sea of sheets and pillows. With a faint smile, he gestured for me to sit on the solitary chair beside the bed. I remained standing.

" _You can't go,_ " I said. The pain in my throat had eased and my eyes were clear, my thoughts now bent on one thing. " _You musn't go._ "

He simply smiled, his eyes shining in the faint light. I have never disobeyed my mother or my father, yet he had, on several occasions, called me an unruly child. Although I was youngest, I made up for my lack of stature in ferocity; the treatment I'd received from my older sisters had hardened me to a point. I had been a wild thing, a savage, when I grew bold enough to pinch back, quick enough to dodge a blow, tall enough to pull hair. Yet I was never cruel. I only hurt those who had hurt me first, my brother and my sisters, and whatever scraps we fought during daylight hours were forgotten by supper. Growing into a woman had smoothed away the ready roughness childhood had given me, yet I have kept a good deal of my hereditary stubbornness even in adulthood. It was a trait my father adored me for, as it was a trait he recognised in himself. We were an equal match in our own variety of stubbornness; kind, but unchangeably loyal to our own desires and his desire, at present, was to pass away.

_"It's time for me to go,"_ he said quietly; never once had he raised his voice to me, mother, sibling or servant. He was not a man for shouting. Yes, he can lecture and scold and show his displeasure through stern words, yet he was always softly spoken. Melting beneath those eyes and the gentleness of his speech, I sank into the chair.

_"She needs you,"_ I pleaded, " _What will she do when you are gone?_ "  
 _  
"She made her own choice,"_ He turns his eyes on me and all protestations are lost on my tongue. _"Let us speak no more of it, for I have much to say and time is short now."_

I will not say what was said between us in that room, only that I did not stay long in my chair. I was curled up in my fathers' arms, weeping as he brushed the hair from my face and said the most beautiful things, the most perfect things to console those who face the drudgery of living when a loved one has passed away. I asked him many questions. Did he wish I was more like my sisters, calmer, sweeter?

_Some men think girls are not worthy of a fathers love..._

I could have been better tempered, and gentler.

_They are good only for marriage and grandsons...  
_  
And could he not stay, please, just a week or two longer? No?  
 __  
but many Fathers do love their daughters ..  
  
Oh, but Father- have I made you happy? I will try harder, say you will stay another week and I won't leave your side, I'll read to you

_and here, aranel, is a daughter whom this father has loved more than any other.._

I will do anything, tell me... could I have been better? I will try, I swear...

_for she makes him immeasurably proud._

None of us know how long our mother stayed in the room. My sisters huddled together and sobbed into their sleeves, my brother sat motionless in the dark. I hugged my knees to my chest and wept by myself. This night was an eternity, the dark outside was a vast blackness that stretched out into every corner of our existence here; it seemed that dawn would never break, that we would hang in this trance for the rest of our lives, waiting for a moment we did not want to come. When my throat ached and the skin beneath my eyes stung from the salt in my tears, I rubbed my eyes dry and looked towards the window; behind the mountains, the first few tendrils of pink had begun to rise like rosy smoke beneath the clouds, gathering into a golden hue that gradually soaked through the entire sky as life began to stir in the city beneath. Night ebbed, morning blossomed and in a daze we all locked our eyes on the light to the East, forgetting our tears and troubles for a moment as we drank in that gorgeous glow; yet our hearts tumbled deep down into our stomachs as the oak door of our fathers' chamber creaked open and our mother stood there so ghastly pale it seemed not a drop of blood was left in her body.

Wordlessly we went to her, and caught her in our multitudes of loving arms as she faltered in her steps and dropped towards us- heavens, she was cold as ice. We embraced, all of us together, a tangle of grief, and she clung to us, all she had left in this cruel, grey world. My sisters fell to the floor, scratching and wailing, my brother took the crown and held it to his chest. There were none to attend us, no servants to come rushing to our aid, to help us to our feet, to offer wine, food, comfort, any form of service. Our entire family had sealed ourselves away inside this tiny chamber, and here we revelled in our fathomless grief. The city waited with baited breath for news of the beloved sovereign, but we did not think of them; we held ourselves, each other, sister, brother, mother, and poured out heartbreak until we were bone dry and unable to gasp another sob or squeeze another tear from eyes that were red raw from crying.

Time passed and my brother straightened himself up. He was King now. As evening began to set in he threw open the door and stepped out into his new world. Echoes of heartbreak drifted up from the streets below to match our own as the word was spread; King Elessar was dead. Some of my sisters went to find some food to fill their empty stomachs, others went to rest in their own rooms, desiring solitude. I stayed with my mother. It was not so very different from the night before; she sat by the window, looking out into the wide world, and I sat by her side. Death had always seemed the harshest of fates, but surely to witness the death of the one whom you love above all others... surely that was harshest of all. It must be so, I thought; she was so lost, and lonely, and trapped by her own heart, sorely broken. How could someone continue living when the one who made life so perfect was so suddenly gone? They couldn't. She couldn't. I could see it in her face, clear as daylight. Beyond the sheen of tears was a certainty; she was leaving. And just as I could not have persuaded my father to live a little longer, I could not have persuaded my mother to remain with us. She simply could not prosper.

I look out of my window. The city is sleeping, wrapped in a silence that is unnatural even for the midst of night, it is silence brought about by pure sorrow. Beyond the city gates, I can see a smudge of white, a horse that gleams like a star fallen to earth against the sheet of impenetrable darkness leading out into the world beyond. I watch until she is indistinguishable and fades from my sight. So she goes, and we have lost both mother and father; I would cry, perhaps, had I not spent all my tears in one almighty flourish. And after all, I do not believe that this is the end. Far from it. One thing my mother taught us was the importance of hope, and the absolute necessity of faith. This is why I can look at my siblings and smile; our father passed, and where he went our mother soon followed, for in life and in death they must always go together. And somewhere out there in the unknown, they may be walking hand in hand, taking their first steps towards the limitless halls where all souls are destined to rest; perhaps they are traversing the paths they took when they were fresh in each others hearts, through the woodland and across the rivers, perhaps they are visiting old friends. We simply cannot know where they will wander now, but there is one certainty; that wherever they may be, they will be waiting for us, Elessar and his Evenstar together, and nothing in this world or the next can part them now.


End file.
